


A Small Adjustment

by bluespring864



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Evgeni Plushenko, Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluespring864/pseuds/bluespring864
Summary: The mood is different today, and they might be able to really talk, instead of tiptoeing around each other.





	A Small Adjustment

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where that came from, but I wrote it, and finished it before all the other stuff I'm working on. Years too late for this fandom, I guess, but in 2002 I was too young for fanfiction ;-)
> 
>  
> 
> This has no basis in reality, of course, I'm just taking what little I've seen of the public personas of these guys, and then inventing the rest.
> 
> For the purposes of this story, they're both divorced, and in some Ice Show touring the world at some point after 2010.

When he comes in to the rink through the door at the top of the stairs, he only plans to watch a bit of Stéphane practicing. It’s always a pleasure to see him grace the ice, even if, after all these years, he’s still just a tiny bit jealous of these spins. He’s nearly as good at them himself now, but _nearly_ has never been for him. And he can’t seem to look away either, that’s another constant. But today, it’s mostly that he woke up at five and couldn’t get back to sleep, so here he is.

Someone is sitting in the half-darkness of the stands.

 _Alexei_.

Evgeni is indecisive for a second, but then makes his way slowly through the row of empty seats and sits himself down beside him. Aside from a quick glance towards Evgeni, when he was still a few meters away, there’s no reaction on Alexei’s part, until Evgeni pronounces his “Good morning.” That is returned promptly, and he finds this behaviour curious.

Usually, Alexei is always the one who’s more open. Even when they were not on good terms at all, Alexei was the one to turn towards him, no trace of resentment on his face. “Playing at being the grown up”, Evgeni had thought at the time, with enough resentment for both of them. Looking back, he realises that, in all probability, Alexei hadn’t been _playing at_ anything.

Most likely he’d tried to prevent the escalation, at least in the beginning. And then he simply stopped looking at Evgeni, which, of course, was worse than anything he could have done in return – not watching Alexei Yagudin wasn’t an option for him. He’s never been able to look away.

Well, be that as it may, they have been on good terms for a long time now.

So, who knows, maybe Alexei is just tired this morning. It is early still, after all, and Evgeni wasn’t expecting anyone to be up when they didn’t have to be.

Or maybe, just maybe, Alexei is relaxed enough around him now that he doesn’t worry about being friendly when he doesn’t feel like it.

That is a nice thought, and with it still soothing his always-whirling mind, he finally looks outwards instead of inwards. Stéphane is practicing parts of that spectacular new step sequence of his, trying out little changes, breaking the segments down and putting them back together again.

It makes for interesting watching, and he wonders, not for the first time, what it would be like if skaters reached their peak physical condition later, when they’d have really learned what they wanted a program to look like, when they could maybe choreograph for themselves, like Lambiel does so often now, like they’ve all started doing to varying degrees.

The man in question is starting in again on the first steps, and there’s just this little moment there in the middle, where...

Stéphane breaks off the sequence and shakes his head in frustration, and Evgeni makes a little noise that is almost a laugh when he realises that the skater has noticed the same small imperfection as his spectator.

The sound makes Alexei look over with raised eyebrows, and Evgeni’s concentration is abruptly drawn elsewhere.

“It’s nothing. Just... he spotted it at the same time as I did.”

There’s no need to elaborate, Alexei is already nodding. Disappointingly, he turns away again without further comment.

Evgeni glances at his profile for just a second. He would like to start a conversation. The mood is different today, and they might be able to really talk, instead of tiptoeing around each other. At one point, right at the very beginning, they had been able to do that. When they were kids, and just kids, before everything else. When Alexei hadn’t been weary of him yet. When he’d had no reason to be, let’s be honest about that.

On the ice, Lambiel is trying a small adjustment to the problematic step – what exactly is he doing now? He’s making it slightly wider, is that it? Ah, and the arm movement to the side, instead of up... suddenly, it’s perfect.

At his side, Alexei leans forward in his seat as Stéphane repeats the move, and when Evgeni turns away from the sight on the ice and looks at him again, there’s a slightly incredulous smile playing on his lips. Perhaps he can draw him into a conversation now?

Worth a try.

 “Remember you used to tell me to ‘watch that kid’?”

He makes sure to infuse his tone with a bit of ‘and you were right’. It’s not as difficult as it used to be. Alexei grins, and it feels like a victory to be at the receiving end of that grin. His gold-medal-obsessed teenage-self would have scoffed at that, but speaking of growing up...

“You were just completely unable to see it then,” Alexei interrupts his thoughts. He sounds satisfied with himself, but even that isn’t so annoying anymore.

“I started to get it shortly before Salt Lake, though, I think.”

There’s a slightly worrying snort from his companion. He clearly remembers the icy atmosphere between them all too well.

“About what you saw in Lambiel, I mean,” Evgeni clarifies, even if it comes down to the same thing, really. It’s what he couldn’t see in his eternal rival Yagudin, and what he could acknowledge in that mostly unknown guy from Switzerland, who was, at the time, far from being a competitor for the top spots.

Seeing the program as a whole, and not as a series of elements to complete.

He had been told that was important, and it wasn’t that he hadn’t known it, or hadn’t believed it, but it was only then, somewhere during the year of 2001, that he had started to understand it on more than a technical level.

Alexei is looking at him with a very strange expression now.

“I guess you did,” he says quietly, “and perhaps I should be glad you did not see it sooner.”

Evgeni has never known him to be so self-deprecating, and it’s not something he cares for. So he puts on his best haughty face, narrows his eyes, and says,

“Yeah. I would have beaten you every time.”

Alexei actually looks startled, his eyes round, and Evgeni shakes his head at him.

“What is the matter with you today?”

There’s still only a shocked stare, so he adds, slowly, calmly, almost as if speaking to a child,

“I did not mean that.”

It’s Alexei who shakes his head now, looking strangely relieved, as if he really cares.

“I can never tell with you.”

“Well, that explains a lot.”

Evgeni keeps up the dry tone, but this time, instead of the blank stare, there’s another grin slowly spreading over that compelling face in front of him. It’s been a while since he had to stop himself from reaching out with a hand to trace the lines of a bright smile, but the urge is back full force now.

He doesn’t want to look away, because they’re having some kind of moment here. It would, however, be dangerous to look on, so, reluctantly, he shifts his gaze (but not his attention) back to the ice.

“All right,” Alexei suddenly says, and it sounds like he is gearing up for something. Evgeni stays prudently silent, only tilts his head to show he’s listening.

“Seeing as you brought it up yourself, and I never understood it. You know, I think you always, right from the start, had plenty of presence and... charm in your exhibitions. Why did it take you so long to take a bit of that and put it in with the rest of it?”

Well, he has to look at him now, no way around it.

“Did you just call me charming?”

This is a day to remember, because he has just made Alexei Yagudin blush, and it’s a, well, a _charming_ sight to behold.

“I was asking – “

“Oh, I don’t know, Lyosha,” he sighs. “I fought, then. Not much call for beauty or playfulness in a fight, is there?”

“We all fought.”

Alexei looks confused, which is just as charming. And Evgeni is and always will be a fool for thinking such things.

“Yes, yes but not so... obsessively,” he settles on as an answer.

That doesn’t seem to be a good choice of words – inaccurate, as well, maybe, if some of the stories about Alexei are to be believed; quite a lot of what was reported before Salt Lake would definitely qualify as obsession. But Alexei has gone somewhere else in his mind. Something closes off in his face, and it’s almost expressionless when he asks,

“Now, I know that kind of thinking was part of you from the start, but all that shit you said about me, was that your idea of fighting, too?”

Even though the face remains blank, hurt shines through in his voice, and how can that be, after all this time? There’s a burst of shame as Evgeni recalls the stuff he said to their training mates, back when, and the stuff he said to other athletes who he knew might treat Alexei differently because of the lies, and the stuff he said to people who might tell Alexei – never to the media, though, he drew the line at that, and will be eternally thankful for it.

Even so, it’s not a good thing to remember. But there’s a question to answer, and he will answer it. He won’t name names, though. Alexei will probably know anyway.

“Some suggested that it would be fair game, to maybe throw another skater off balance a bit. If one knew, let’s say, that he was susceptible to nerves, and cared what people thought...”

He trails off at the look on Alexei’s face. Evgeni had expected more hurt, or disappointment, perhaps. But there’s... triumph? Relief?

„I was sure you hated me so much. And I couldn’t really understand it.”

Alexei sounds so young all of a sudden, and it’s baffling. This is seemingly something that has weighed heavily on his mind, and Evgeni still can’t make sense of that – as the sometimes foolish teenage boy he’d been, it had been fascinating to him that he could get to Alexei in this manner. Evgeni had been the younger one, the little country boy who had trouble feeling at home in this strange, sometimes wonderful, sometimes cruel world he’d stepped into. By all standards, he should have been the insecure one, not Alexei.

Well, there was one thing he could say with certainty.

“I didn’t hate you.”

Alexei looks like he wants to believe him, but can’t quite.

“Remember how you yelled at me”, he says, sounding hesitant to bring it up, “when we ran into each other after the Short at Salt Lake? I didn’t get the feeling that was because of what had happened on the ice.”

The moment is there, in vivid clarity in front of his eyes.

Walking some corridor with his eyes firmly on the ground, not wanting to look anybody in the eye and see sympathetic looks (or triumphant ones) after his less-than-ideal performance, bumping into someone when rounding a corner. Alexei taking a step backwards, looking for a second as if Evgeni was a viper who could strike him; but then composing himself.

The quiet “Hey, Zhenya.” The step towards Evgeni. The hand reaching out for his shoulder, not threateningly, but in a ‘didn’t we used to be alright’-way, and too close, way too close, and why would he do that he shouldn’t be so close, he should be turning away or be angry anything but being so close and looking so –

“It was not because I hated you. Not in the least.”

It was because, quite often, the mere sight of you made me hard. Like it did in that moment. And wanting you was such an unwanted thing. Still, I couldn’t help myself.

He doesn’t say it, of course, but Alexei looks over anyway, suspicion forming already, on the basis of the few words Evgeni has uttered. His tone must have been wistful enough to give it away. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to do anything about it.

“What…? Are you telling me that... that you…?”Alexei begins, but then he laughs.

Quick. Loud. Barking.

“No, no. You’re having me on. Aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

And it could be confirmation or denial, answer to the first question or the second one, but his treacherous voice breaks a little, still caught in the memory.

He is aware of Alexei going completely rigid beside him.

Evgeni feels the need to add something, and his secret is out now anyway. The only thing that’s left is to confirm it beyond a doubt. So he does, even if he might get punched for it.

“You were so beautiful.”

Even now, and without looking at Alexei (he knows he would find him different, but just as breathtaking) Evgeni can hear such awe in his own voice, and he hates himself a little for it. Not nearly as much as he used to, though.

Finally, he glances sideways, to see what he has done.

Alexei, instead of looking angry, is sporting a sad little smile. A _just so_ -smile. One of those that hurts without wanting to.

And then he speaks.

„I wish I’d known... but then again, no. I might not have… I would not have understood, then.“

Evgeni stares. There’s that smile, again, and Alexei shouldn’t have to smile like this, even if Evgeni knows that he does so, and quite often at that.

“I could have hurt you terribly.”

Those are the words that follow that smile, and they’re not at all what he would have expected from Alexei. Evgeni thinks about the dull pain of that time, with its occasional sharp spikes, and wonders if he wouldn’t have preferred a big explosion of hurt, of rejection.

Inexplicably, Alexei adds,

“Hurt us both.”

Fuck it. All of this is so far away from what he considers reality, is veering into a direction he didn’t even know existed, and so it is that Evgeni isn’t even astonishing himself when he says,

“I always wanted to do this.”

He shifts just a tiny bit, to close the last centimetres between them, and, without daring to glance up at the man at his side, leans his head on Alexei’s shoulder.

“Zhenya.”

His name is a chocked sound coming from Alexei.

Then, there’s silence.

Evgeni isn’t completely comfortable in this position, because he’s actually taller than Alexei, but he’ll be damned if he moves and disturbs this – whatever this is.

Down in the rink, Stéphane is still skating. He’s moved on to his spins, though they hardly need practice.

After a while, Alexei whispers something. A question.

“Why are you doing this?”

_Because I’m in love with you. And have been, since I was about fifteen years old._

It doesn’t seem like a wise answer. He settles for a counter-question.

“Why are you allowing it?”

And Lyosha, in this strange mix of courage and vulnerability that has always left Evgeni spellbound, says,

“Because it feels good. Because I have longed for it.”

Evgeni can be stupid like this, and so he says, disbelievingly,

“You longed for me to put my head on your shoulder.”

The body part in question shakes a little as Alexei chuckles, and Evgeni’s head moves along with it.

“No, Zhenya. I have longed for a lot more. But this is more than I hoped for.”

Evgeni is suddenly frantic. He lifts his head up and turns in his seat to face Alexei, or as much as the edges of the stupid plastic thing allow him to. The sight of Alexei, eyes intent on him, and expression so very open once again, robs Evgeni of almost all his words.

“When... how...?”

“As soon as I allowed myself to look.”

Evgeni suddenly remembers his fellow skaters’ whispered excitement of ‘Yagudin is in the audience’ at quite a few competitions from 2003 onwards, even when Alexei wasn’t involved in consulting or choreographing anyone there. He’d always wondered what exactly Alexei was doing in the audience quite so often – Evgeni had thought at the time that surely it had to hurt him to see that world he no longer was a part of, performances he could no longer rival with...

“Don’t tell me you came to watch me,” he breathes, and immediately wants to take it back. He sounds needy, and _urgh_ , that is just distasteful to him.

Alexei, however, doesn’t seem to mind, seems to be on the same page, in fact.

“Didn’t you wonder why I never came backstage?”

There’s this little ‘silly me’-smile on his face now, and after about twenty years of looking at him, Evgeni still can’t quite accept that he should find another man adorable. A shrug of the shoulders completes the picture, and it _is_ adorable. As no answer to his question is forthcoming, Alexei continues,

“You know that I would have, if I had been there for any of the other guys.”

He knows it’s highly improbable, but Evgeni is annoyed for a moment, because, wherever this may lead, they might have been able to have this conversation years ago.

“You should have.”

Alexei’s lips turn upward, possibly at the fierce tone in which the words are spoken.

“It would have been the height of awkwardness.”

Evgeni smiles back, because this feels more and more real by the second, and there’s a wave of happiness flooding him, not quite like anything he’s known up to date.

“Oh yes. It would have been. Especially when I’d have apologised for my ugly tactics in previous years.”

“You would have?”

Alexei sounds so happy about that, and it makes Evgeni feel all the worse for never having actually done it. He looks to the floor between the seats, where a forgotten candy wrap is suddenly absolutely fascinating to him.

“Yes, I would have. It’s shameful, but I only realised what I had done when someone tried the same thing with me.”

“Who was that?”

And Alexei is a better man than him, if he can sound angry about that instead of gleeful.

“That’s unimportant. You... you must have gathered by now that I am sor –“

He breaks off abruptly, because Alexei is cupping his cheek. His thumb moves in a little caress, and that is just so. Oh.

It startles him into looking up, this feeling, and Alexei is already leaning in, eyes so bright.

“May I?” he says, always the gentleman, and Evgeni gulps and nods.

And then there’s a kiss.

A kiss, a kiss, he’s kissing me, kissing _me_ , _he_ is... Evgeni almost forgets to enjoy it, so he follows when Alexei pulls back a little, and initiates another one.

And it’s worth the years he needed to learn not to hate himself for loving this man. It is. No disappointing ‘it has to be, after everything’. It just is.

“I have never kissed a man like that,” Alexei says quietly when they draw apart this time.

Evgeni takes his face in both hands, because he’s allowed now, and feels his own face form a broad grin, which is not a frequent occurrence, but the occasion more than justifies it.

“Waiting for me, were you?” he says, all bravado, and is shocked speechless when Alexei replies, looking adorably embarrassed,

“Yes, I believe so.”

Evgeni has kissed other men _like that_ , in a manner very different from the quick and completely platonic pecks on the lips that are customary between friends and acquaintances. But it has never felt quite like it does now, and for some reason he tells Alexei this.

There’s a tear glistening in Alexei’s eye afterwards, and that is just too much. Again, Evgeni just says it as soon as it comes to mind, and Alexei laughs and lets him wipe it away.

A second later, a noise, just a small noise, makes Evgeni whirl around in his seat.

He finds Stéphane there, tall on his skates, smiling apologetically, as if he’s sorry to interrupt, but has come too close to back away noiselessly.

“Didn’t think I’d see the day,” he says to them in English, and Evgeni just stares at him. He assumes Alexei is doing the same.

“You were both being very stupid, you know that?”

He makes a ‘lips sealed shut’-gesture and stalks off.

They look after him in shocked silence, and then they turn back to each other. Alexei immediately grabs Evgeni's forearms, holding onto them with almost bruising force.

“Don’t you panic now. Don’t you run away.”

He sounds like his life is depending on it; and Evgeni gives a strained little laugh.

“When have you ever known me to back down, Lyosha?”

And it’s so strange to see Alexei look happy about that.

“True,” he says, with his most boyish smile.

“And you...?”

Evgeni needs the reassurance, needs to hear it spoken aloud to really believe it, and Alexei obliges him readily.

“Oh, no, I’m not stupid enough to let you go again; certainly not.”

They’re both sporting stupid grins now, and Evgeni leans against Alexei again, both of them relaxing into the touch this time.

“You like that, huh?”

Alexei sounds amused.

“I like your broad shoulders.”

He hasn’t said that. Oh God, he has.

But Alexei makes a strange noise, and murmurs,

“And I always thought I should be as thin and wiry as you are.”

Evgeni looks up at him without really lifting his head.

“So that’s true then? The part about starving yourself?”

Alexei’s voice is gruff when he responds. Monosyllabically.

“Yes.”

He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. So Evgeni remains silent, but he sits up properly, his body angled towards Alexei once again, and runs his hands down the sweatshirt-covered chest (no need for a coat, someone has already put the heating on in the stands for this night’s performance), right to the tiny little pouch of belly, where the touch makes Alexei wince, as if Evgeni would be disgusted by the softness he finds there, when it’s the contrary that is true.

“I’m glad you changed your mind about that,” Evgeni whispers, and lets his cool hands slip under the hem of the sweatshirt. There’s an undershirt, but it’s halfway untucked, and his fingers easily find their way under it.

How he loves to hear Alexei’s startled breath.

“Zhenya, Zhenya...” the man whispers, his hands coming up to Evgeni’s shoulders, only to bury themselves in his hair next.

But right afterwards, he moves back to his shoulders, to the front of them, and pushes him back.

“I... I should be on the ice. It’s my slot now, after Stéphane.”

Evgeni tries for a smile.

“Mine’s at two, after all the pairs.”

It’s a bit scary how well they understand each other, as if the years of conflict and the years of careful distance had never been.

“We can’t do that, Zhenya, there’ll be a lot of them staying to watch, and some of the local skaters will come, I’m sure.”

Evgeni pouts, and doesn’t even feel silly for doing so, because it makes Alexei laugh.

“We’ll be there as friends,” he says, trying to sound persuasive.

Alexei looks doubtful, but he also appears to be far from motivated to warm up and skate right now, so in the end he nods.

“Stéphane might smirk and be a bit insufferable,” he warns.

“Do you think so? You know him better.”

Evgeni hasn’t got it in him to sound concerned about anything right now.

“Yes,” Alexei sighs. “But he’s a good guy, he won’t tell.”

That will be a problem, not telling, Evgeni thinks, because he doesn’t know how to keep this in (if it lasts, wait and see if it lasts, a voice inside him insists, but he’s not listening to that one today, either). It will bring its own set of problems – ex-wives and children are to consider, they surely will be ‘delighted’ by this development, and it’s not the best time to be gay in Russia, either.

Those aren’t thoughts for today, though, because Alexei is grinning again.

“All right, let’s get out of here.”

~---~

They stumble into Evgeni’s hotel room minutes later, and it’s awkward because Alexei really doesn’t know what to do, and it’s perfect because of that, too.

The touches feel incredible, still with a hint of the forbidden attached to them, but quickly becoming familiar, and the noises Alexei makes are scandalous. And he’s certainly a fast learner.

They catch a few hours of sleep, and Evgeni takes great pleasure in shaking a grumbling Alexei awake, and then they go skating.

The looks passing between them are sometimes jealous when they show off to the other (it’s hard to shake that completely) but more and more, they dissolve into laughter instead. Alexei was right, there are quite a few people watching and whispering and pointing.

They do a few silly little things during the show that night, which the audience loves; and the organisers just go with it and can’t quite believe their luck. Evgeni particularly enjoys the incredulous voice of the announcer.

The sounds of Alexei’s voice on the phone, speaking to his child, wash over him at some point, late that night. Late at night in Toronto; early evening in Saint Petersburg. Evgeni calls home himself.

Nothing is going to stay as light and easy as it is now, Evgeni thinks, but he’s always been one for challenges. The man beside him slightly less so, and it’s not arrogance that makes him reflect on it, but a deep understanding of the other that has always been there beneath the surface. And Alexei has proven beyond a doubt that even if he doesn’t enjoy a challenge quite as much, he is nevertheless more than capable of overcoming it.

So Evgeni isn’t worried about the future tonight.

He’s not in this alone, and that’s a novel feeling, rarely touched on in the past, but one that, for the first time, he wants to keep.


End file.
